


but love isn't cruel

by witching



Series: you've been like a light [14]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Banter, Communication, Fluff, Getting Together, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Martim Week 2021, Martim week: epiphany, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: “So,” Martin says slowly while Tim takes his first sip. “How long have you…?”Tim looks up at him, furrows his brow. The words spill out of him without much thought, thankfully, because he can’t imagine how difficult it would be if he had to force them out. “How long have I been in love with you? Or how long have I known? They’re very different answers.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: you've been like a light [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668694
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	but love isn't cruel

_for some time, i've been  
waiting for your star to shine so bright  
i should say that it's your right to hurt me, baby  
if you wanted to, oh, but love isn't cruel  
and for some time, i've been  
singing you a lullaby each night  
whispering that it's your right to hurt me, baby  
if you wanted to, oh, but love isn't cruel  
_

// carly rae jepsen, 'this love isn't crazy'

* * *

Tim sits in the center of his bed, feeling quite small and quite cold. Neither feeling makes much sense – he’s not very small at all, not even curled in on himself in his large bed, and he’s wearing a lot more clothing than he was a few minutes ago, when he felt like he was boiling out of his skin. It doesn’t make sense on an emotional level, either, though that’s where the sensation originates – there’s no good reason for him to be nervous, or ashamed, or scared.

 _This is not a rejection._ Martin said that, very clearly, before he left. _This is not a rejection, okay? I’m going to make some tea, and we’re both going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk about it properly. I’m_ **_not_ ** _leaving,_ he said, and now Tim repeats it in his head like a prayer. But, well. Feelings are unreasonable by definition, and no matter how many times Tim reminds himself that he’s _fine,_ that it’s _fine,_ his heart doesn’t believe it.

That is, until Martin comes back, and it’s like seeing the sun for the first time after months of darkness. Even as he’s thinking it, Tim knows that it’s overly dramatic, but it’s also the truth. Martin comes and joins him on the bed and hands him a cup of tea, which he accepts gratefully, letting it warm him.

“So,” Martin says slowly while Tim takes his first sip. “How long have you…?”

Tim looks up at him, furrows his brow. The words spill out of him without much thought, thankfully, because he can’t imagine how difficult it would be if he had to force them out. “How long have I been in love with you? Or how long have I known? They’re very different answers.”

“I guess… both?” Martin gnaws on his lower lip for a moment, then nods decisively. “Yeah, I’d like to know both.”

“Right, okay,” Tim replies, running a hand through his hair. He thinks about it for a moment, not wanting to say the wrong thing, and eventually comes up with, “I don’t know. To the first one, I mean. It could be – could be as long as I’ve known you, honestly? I mean, I could probably name a few of the nails in the coffin, but I don’t think I could tell you where the point of no return was.”

Martin gives a slow nod, taking in the information. “Alright. What about – the other part?”

Tim tries not to take the cryptic gesture and inexpressive words as a bad sign, reminding himself that this is good, that if Martin were going to break his heart, he’d have done it already, he wouldn’t drag it out like this. Tim knows better than to assume that Martin playing down his emotions means that he isn’t feeling them – he’s just being pragmatic, as always, and trying not to overreact, trying not to ramp up the tension when Tim is already so on edge. He’s thankful for it, truly, but he also can’t help the dread in his stomach every time Martin says something that isn’t _I love you, too._

Eyeing Martin over the rim of the cup, Tim takes another sip of his tea to stall for time. “Do you remember when we talked about it, a way back? When you made me promise?” He waits for a nod of confirmation from Martin before continuing, “It’s been on my mind since then, pretty much, because I – well, I didn’t know, so I had to think about it, right? So I… thought about it. But I wasn’t sure until the other day.”

“You mean when we – when we talked about talking about it but we didn’t actually talk about it?” Martin asks, his tone still infuriatingly, terrifyingly inscrutable.

“Yeah. It’s just – you asked,” Tim reminds him, as if Martin has somehow forgotten, “and just like that, it felt like the answer fell from the sky and hit me over the head. And then you told me _not_ to answer, so I didn’t. But then I remembered when I promised to keep you in the loop, so I had to tell you, right? But not at the wrong time or in the wrong place. So I was… waiting.”

“Waiting,” Martin echoes in a hollow sort of voice. “Right. I’m – God, Tim, I’m so sorry.”

Tim’s voice is high and ragged, despite all his best efforts, when he says, “Sorry?”

Martin winces at the look on Tim’s face, sets his tea down on the tray and leans in closer, puts both his hands on Tim’s upper arms to soothe him. “No, shit, not like that. Not like _Sorry, I don’t feel the same,_ or anything like that. I’m just – sorry I didn’t know. Sorry I kept shutting you down instead of really talking about it, because I thought – well, I thought you were just mouthing off, I guess, and with everything that’s been going on, with Jon and everything, I just – I didn’t want to make it a whole thing, you know?”

“Of course, yeah, I understand,” Tim says, his heart pounding. “I didn’t want to make you worry about it, either.”

“It’s not a _worry,_ Tim.” Martin gives him a look, a wrinkled brow and a little quirk of his lips, the kind of face that says _You’re so stupid it’s almost concerning,_ or possibly _it’s almost endearing,_ Tim has never been able to tell the difference. “God, I – if I’d known, it would have been so different –,”

“But you didn’t know,” Tim interrupts smoothly, “and neither did I. And now we both do. So…I understand, you know, if it’s too much. If it’s too complicated. That’s alright.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Martin exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation, like he's just remembered that he left his stove on at home, or something. “I am _such_ an idiot.”

“Why?” Tim asks, curiosity taking over before he thinks about it for a moment and adds, “I mean, you’re not. But why?”

Martin’s nearly hysterical when he answers, “You’ve been waiting this whole time – you’ve just been waiting, and I’ve been such a prick, I’ve just been letting you _wait,_ and I haven’t even _told_ you that I’m in love with you, too!”

It takes every ounce of Tim’s self control not to pounce on him immediately, and the only real reason he doesn’t is because there’s still hot tea around that he doesn't fancy spilling on his bed or anyone’s clothes or skin. What he does instead is breathe a massive sigh of relief, which transforms halfway through into a breathless giggle. He covers his mouth with his hand, embarrassed, but it does little to hide the giddy smile on his face.

When he gets control over his breathing, Tim finally replies, “You really – really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I’m not just saying it,” Martin says with an eye roll and a sweet little smile of his own. “God, I love you so much, it’s insane. It _hurts,_ how much I love you.”

“And how long have _you_ known that?” Tim asks, his voice still high and strained, though he tries to tamp it down out of embarrassment.

Martin gives a thoughtful hum, biting his lip. “For… for ages, I think,” he says, and then hurries to add, “But I wasn’t – I didn’t keep it from you on purpose. I just… I thought it would go away if I ignored it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Tim swallows hard. He narrows his eyes, frowns in a way he hopes doesn’t look too hurt. “Why’d you want it to go away?”

“Because you’re my best friend, Tim!” Martin squeaks desperately. “You’re so good to me, and you’re – _Christ,_ you’re good in bed, and you kept hinting that you might feel that way about me but you never _said_ it, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I didn’t want to go and ruin it with my feelings. And I thought…”

There’s a long pause after that, far too long, where Martin purses his lips and looks intently at the floor, before Tim finally presses him to continue. “What did you think, Martin?”

Wringing his hands, Martin looks properly guilty, enough that it starts to scare Tim again, until he says, “Honestly, I thought you were hung up on Jon? I thought that was why – why it was pissing you off so much, how he’s been acting.”

A bark of a laugh escapes Tim before he can stop it. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he practically shouts. “You’ve been cutting him so much slack, I thought _you_ were hung up on him!”

Thankfully, Martin sees the humor in it as well, rather than being insulted. He buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter, until he finally looks up at Tim again with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Yeah," Tim shrugs, "but I like it that way.”

“So…” Martin says thoughtfully, averting his gaze. 

“So…?” Tim can't bring himself to look at Martin's face, either, focusing instead on the way his fingers twist nervously in the sheets, simultaneously feeling connected to him in their mutual anxiety and feeling guilty for being the source of it.

It takes a while, but eventually Martin fumbles through a stammering question: “So, can we – I mean, will you – do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Tim beams brightly at him, a little bit lightheaded from excitement, but not too much to reply, as smoothly as he can manage at the moment, “Almost as much as I want you to be mine.”

Martin blows out a long breath through his teeth. “Wow. Okay. Boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend!” Tim echoes.

“This is my boyfriend, Tim,” Martin says slowly, testing out the shape of the words in his mouth.

“Martin is my boyfriend now,” Tim continues in a similar wondering tone.

Grinning, his voice picking up as the whole thing sinks in, Martin turns to an invisible third party and says in a very businesslike manner, “Oh, yeah, I’ll get right back to you on that, I just have to check my availability with my boyfriend.”

Tilting his head in the same direction, Tim puts on a somber face. “Sorry I’m late, boss,” he says, “I was up all night with my hot, _hot_ boyfriend.”

Martin smacks him in the arm without any real rancor, and Tim seizes the opportunity, grabs Martin’s hand before he can pull away, and twines their fingers together. “Hey,” he muses, “it’s Saturday night.”

“Yeah,” Martin replies, “what about it?”

“I was just thinking,” Tim explains, “we could totally stay up all night and still get to work bright and early Monday morning.”

“I suppose,” Martin says, making a show of his long-suffering sigh even as he leans in close to Tim’s face. “You know how punctuality is my number one priority.”


End file.
